The Horrible Curse of the Arrow in the Knee
by ARaggedMuffin
Summary: The truth behind the famous quote...


It is a cold day in Skyrim, as per usual.

I stride through the gates of Windhelm, a bow and quiver strapped to my back, clad in armour made of ebony. I have heard tales of the civil war in Skyrim, and of the racism of the Stormcloak rebels, especially against Dark Elves such as myself. I notice a short, balding man in expensive-looking robes look up at me suddenly, like a wolf smelling blood. He smirks, and begins to walk towards me. He beckons over a few of his friends, imposing-looking men of various heights, all Nords. One of them is keeping a firm grip on his currently sheathed sword. I, meanwhile, moved my hand ever so slowly towards my bow.

'Hey you,' the ringleader calls to me. I pretend not to hear him. 'Hey, greyskin!' he shouts, the racial slur pounding in my ears. I look up at him.

'Yes?' I ask patiently.

'What in Sovngarde are you doing here?' He asks. His breath is hot, and smells of mead and sweetroll.

'Standing,' I reply.

'I hadn't noticed,' he replies. 'You gonna go any time soon? It takes a hell of a lot of time to get rid of the smell of greyskin. I can barely go into the Grey Quarter as it is.'

Several of his friends laugh at this. I am surprised at how quickly this was happening - I had expected confrontation, but not this soon.

'Do you have a problem with me?' I ask.

'A problem?' The Nord repeats. 'Yes, you could say I do. My problem with you is that you dare to talk to me, when you clearly don't even deserve to lick the dirt from my shoes, you-'

He doesn't finish his sentence - I interrupt by shoving him. He stumbles backwards a little, then regains his balance and laughs. His friends join in, teasing me and hurling insults. I grab my bow as one of them starts to advance on me, readying an enormous warhammer. I ready an arrow.

'Stay back,' I warn him. 'I'll shoot!'

A crowd is beginning to gather now. I notice several guards watching, not getting involved. Bastards.

The Nord I had threatened raises his hammer, and expression of both hatred and relish on his face as he brings it down. I dodge, and the hammer smashes to the ground, leaving a hole in the flagstones on which I had been stood moments before.

Angered, I let off an arrow as a warning. It flies past the brute's head.

'The next one won't miss,' I promise. He ignores me, taking another swing which I easily dodge, so I pull another arrow from my quiver and ready it in the bow. I fire, and it lands with a satisfying _thunk_ in his shoulder. He cries out in anguish and drops his weapon, then falls to the floor, gripping his shoulder. I aim another arrow, this time at his knee.

'Wait!' Someone, a woman, shouts. 'Don't do it! Not his knee!'

Various other members of the crowd join in, and I notice a guard pulling out his sword. I don't listen to them - I know that if I'm going to make my point, I'm going to do it now. I let the arrow fly, and hit hits his knee, smashing his kneecap with a sickening _crack_. Good, I think.

The crowd falls silent in shock, and I wonder why. Suddenly, I notice a strange look on the injured Nord's face. Then, his eyeballs begin to expand to an enormous size, turning a pitch black. The skin on his head takes on a new metallic grey colour. Out of the top of his head grows a small spike, and rivets appear on his forehead. His armour falls away, leaving him wearing only a loincloth, but then his torso takes on a new colour, dark blue. Chainmail appears around his shoulders, and metal boots appear on his legs. His left hand changes now, flattening and spreading out into a disk shape. The disk turns to the colour of wood, forming a shield. On the left side of his hip, a scabbard appears, with a sword sheathed in it. Finally, his stomach expands, replacing what was once muscle with pure fat.

Horrified, I back away as the arrows in his shoulder and knee disintegrate, and the horribly deformed Nord rises to his feet. He is unsure of himself for a moment, then, as if it was all he had ever known, he pulls the sword from his scabbard and points it at me.

'You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people,' He tells me. 'What say you in your defence?'

Feeling nothing but sorrow for the unfortunate man, I submit. He grabs me, and starts to haul me away to the dungeon of the Palace of the Kings.

'You know,' he said. 'I used to be an adventurer like you…'


End file.
